


Self-Flagellating Masturbatory Pity Party Solo Hour

by ohhaypsy



Series: Who Are These Douchebags? [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Karkat Swearing, M/M, Post-Sburb, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 05:43:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11178267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohhaypsy/pseuds/ohhaypsy
Summary: Dirk fucks up, but Karkat apologizes.Sort of follow-up toTranscend, but can be read as a stand-alone.





	Self-Flagellating Masturbatory Pity Party Solo Hour

**Author's Note:**

> [Makizushi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Makizushi/pseuds/Makizushi) pointed out that Karkat had some apologizing to do after [Transcend](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10886511) and well, they were right.
> 
>  **Potential Triggers:** Karkat uses the word 'retarded' in shitty ways.

Sometimes you’re struck by how not normal your relationship with Jake was. 

It’s not because of the reasons that caused you to break up -- your needy, insecure, piece of shit self driving him so far away that it finally forced you to put the both of you out of your misery by calling it quits. Though not healthy, it didn’t shove things outside the realm of normal. It’s not that you were dating while playing a game whose outcome determined the fate of existence, your session on pause while you all waited, killing time by exploring tombs and fighting skeletons. No, that was probably the most normal part of your relationship with Jake.

You realize it when watching yours and Roxy’s ecto-kids with their partners. Rose is somewhat private and subdued with Kanaya, but so much love exudes from their quiet smiles that they might as well be wearing giant glowing fucking signs. There’s always contact between the two of them, as simple as held hands or a touch at the small of a back. You watch them, jealous of and fascinated by their ease with each other.

Dave and Karkat are the ones you deal with on a more regular basis, though, and the ones that really make you _see_ for the first time just how fucking weird your relationship with Jake was. Which seems ass-over-head, considering how they eschew the norms of both troll and human relationships. They’re not matesprits, or kismesises, or even just boyfriends; they’re Dave-and-Karkat, and somehow manage to wrap all of that up into one bizarre package. You spend a lot of time with them post-game, despite tension between you and Karkat that, even without asking Dave, you know stems from his knowledge of Dave’s fucked up relationship with your Pre-Scratch self.

You don’t blame Karkat for hating you for it. And you certainly wouldn’t blame Dave for telling you to fuck right off so he could close that chapter of his life. But he doesn’t, and so you deal with Karkat’s vicious glares and he deals with your existence because you both care about Dave who is very determined to have you both in his life even if you don’t understand why.

You’re not sure when or who it was that decided you’d be living with them, it just sort of happened. So you see when Dave sleepily stumbles into the kitchen while Karkat makes coffee, and hugs the troll from behind, pressing kisses to the back of his neck. You hear their loud fights and even louder make up sex. You pretend you don’t notice that when Dave flops on him and Karkat snarls at him to get his limp meat sack off of him, Karkat never actually pushes him away. You quickly learn to avoid going into the living room when they’re wrapped up on the couch together, just pressed against each other while they watch a movie. And it all makes you realize the weirdest part of yours and Jake’s relationship.

The two of you hardly ever touched.

Kisses were few and far between. If you’re honest, your first was a little, well, traumatic. You watched it from the outside, after completing a time loop that would have done Dave proud, dressed in your stupid moon pajamas while the boy you’d been in love with for years passionately smooched your severed head.

Kissing after that was… strange, to say the least. You’d get up in your own head, (oh, the irony,) unable to lose yourself in the kiss, wondering if Jake was thinking about that first time every single time. God knew it was all you could think of. So you’d pull away. 

Even just _touching_ was strange. Neither of you were yet used to physical contact with another human being -- Jake hadn’t experienced it since his grandmother had died, and you hadn’t experienced it _ever,_ you still wonder how Roxy had adapted so well -- so while it was something you hungered for, you never quite knew how or when to initiate. And Jake never tried. Well, _almost_ never.

There was once when things had started to get hot and heavy, only once. The two of you had just finished a dungeon crawl, defeating the boss and winning the points, both of you climbing a few more rungs on your echeladders. Adrenaline was running high, and _fuck_ did Jake look amazing, covered in dirt and sweat and just. Fucking. Beaming.

Your heart was still racing as you stared at him, unusually unobstructed as your shades had gotten knocked off during the fight. You dropped your katana as Jake holstered his guns and moved towards you, your hands instead grabbing the lapels of his overshirt. You meant to pull him into you, but he beat you to the punch, grabbing your face and pulling you to him so he could devour your mouth.

You had never kissed like that before, that needy, that desperately. You let him push you back while he moved with you, until your back was pressed against the rough stone. You had intended to be the one taking charge, you were so used to taking charge, but Jake’s hands were in your hair, gripping and pulling as he plundered your mouth like his tongue was Indiana Jones and your tonsils belonged in a museum. And fuck if it wasn’t the sexiest thing you could ever conceive of.

But then his thigh slipped between yours, applying pressure to your erection, causing you to straight up _moan_ into his mouth. And he pulled back. His eyes were wide and his mouth open. When his hands moved from your hair to the wall to hold himself up, hold himself _away_ from you, your stomach clenched and you knew that you had fucked up. It was too much, too fast, especially when just kissing before this had been awkward. Jake hadn’t spent years pining after a dude the way you had, and now you had made it uncomfortable.

So you slipped out from between his arms and went to retrieve your shades and sword, cool as you please, acting like it hadn’t happened. You ignored the way he looked at you, uncomfortable and disa-fucking-pointed in you as always.

Then you noticed he wasn’t responding to your texts as frequently. You knew you’d fucked up, so you kept texting, trying to prove that everything was normal. And he responded less and less. 

And of course that just led to you fucking up more. The way you always did. 

Speaking of fucking up.

You’re sitting outside the house because you’ve fucked up again. It was an honest to god accident, but you should have known better. 

You’d snuck up on Dave. 

You, Dave, and Karkat were all exceptional insomniacs, even though the game was over. There was always a light on, always some sort of movement in the house. It was around 3AM -- Karkat was in the kitchen while Dave sat in the living room, his head dipping as he watched some shitty movie Karkat had undoubtedly put on. You figured if he was tired enough for that, maybe he should get some proper fucking sleep in a bed. So you leaned over the couch to touch his shoulder. 

You forgot how quiet you moved, hadn’t realized Dave was too out of it to notice you were there. You snuck up on him, and he reacted the way his body had been trained to.

You barely managed to get your katana out and up to block Dave’s blow, your instincts keeping you _just_ able to defend against the next few. It took a few seconds of locked swords for Dave to realize he was looking at you, not the _other_ you. 

But by that point, Karkat was in the room, his claws digging into your skin as he threw you away from Dave to put himself between the two of you. There was a fire and rage in his red eyes that you’re pretty sure humans aren’t capable of, and you found yourself scared of a dude half a foot shorter than you, screaming that you were a heartless abusive puppet-fucker.

You didn’t have time to react, except to feel your chest and stomach clench at the _truth_ of the statement, because Dave had grabbed the back of Karkat’s sweater to haul him upstairs. Their bedroom door slammed and you heard them yelling at each other. 

And now, sitting outside, hours later and watching the sun come up, all you can think is how you caused that. You _hurt_ Dave. You keep hurting everyone.

You fucked up again.

\--

It’s nearly midmorning and you still haven’t moved. You’re not even thinking at the moment, the scorn and derision for yourself playing on a constant loop through your head, enough to block everything out.

You’re snapped out of it when the front door opens, immediately tensing when you see Karkat. You accept that after last night you need to move out but would rather have offered to do so than be kicked out. He doesn’t hesitate as he drops to sit next to you on the edge of the porch, looking straight ahead. You can’t help but stare at him -- it’s the closest he’s ever physically been to you, and he’s not so much as glaring suspiciously. 

You recognize a bite mark high on his neck, just peeking out from beneath his hair, and snap your gaze forward.

It’s maybe a minute before he speaks, and it’s the softest tone you’ve heard him take with you. Not that that’s saying much. “All right, listen the fuck up because I’m only going to say this once.” He pauses. “I’m sorry.”

And again, you’re staring at him, the noise in your head static, completely incapable of making sense of his words.

His neck darkens under your stare. “Obviously I still fucking hate you and your stupid face, but…” He gets quiet, folding his arms across his knees and hunching forward a bit. “Dave pointed out that-- Well, he pointed out a lot of shit. But okay, I’ve been a really unnecessary shitstain to you.”

Silence. You see him peeking at you out of the corner of his eye, just waiting for you to say something. You’ve been around Karkat enough to know his discomfort with the quiet, which is probably a factor in why he and Dave work well together. They both babble to fill the empty space, though at completely different decibel levels. The only time you’ve ever heard both of them quiet was occasionally when it was just the two of them and they hadn’t noticed you were there. 

You want to save him from the silence, but you don’t know what to say. You don’t know how to accept the apology, because he shouldn’t have to apologize for speaking the truth, and _especially_ not for trying to protect Dave from the shitty older brother who put him through years of abuse. There’s nothing to forgive.

He wants to speak, but doesn’t, his jaw muscles tense from holding back. Waiting for you to say something.

You look away from him. “I shouldn’t have snuck up on him.”

“It’s not like you fucking _intended_ to.”

“Still. I should have known better.”

Karkat’s silent for just another moment, one of his arms now wrapped around himself, hand gripping the opposite shoulder. He seems to be carefully choosing his words for once. “Three years on a meteor with only six other people, you really get to know their idiosyncrasies. Especially considering that Dave and I were sleeping together for like, half the trip. I _really_ should have known better.” He hesitates, then pulls the collar of his shirt (Dave’s shirt? You’ve seen both of them wear it,) down and over to show you a rather large and nasty looking scar just beneath his clavicle. He lets go once he’s sure that you’ve seen it -- which is pretty fucking apparent by the way you’re staring with your mouth open. “I woke him up too suddenly one time. Got me right through the shoulder with some shitty broken anime sword. And unlike you god tier assholes, I don’t have fancy auto-healing, so not only did it hurt like a _bitch,_ it took forever to heal.” 

_”Jesus fuck.”_ You can’t help but be disgusted by the scar, trying to wrap your brain around the fact that _Dave_ did that. _Dave_ did that to _Karkat._ He did that because of some intense as fuck PTSD caused by his shitty abusive upbringing by _you--_

“HEY, SNAP OUT IF IT, DICKNOSE. THIS IS NOT SELF-FLAGELLATING MASTURBATORY PITY PARTY SOLO HOUR.” Karkat’s voice is back to its standard shrieking snarl, sharp enough to pull your brain out of the tailspin of self-hatred that really _was_ best described as Self-Flagellating Masturbatory Pity Party Solo Hour. He’s glaring directly at you, his eyes somehow managing to find yours behind your shades. “I’m not telling you this so you can jerk off with your tears later. I’m telling you this so you know that whoops, shit fucking happens, it was an accident and you won’t do it again, Dave doesn’t hate you for it, or whatever other retarded hoofbeast shit you’re worried about.”

You shake your head adamantly. “But it wasn’t your fault. You weren’t the one who--”

Karkat flails his arms up in the air in frustration, nearly smacking you upside the head. “FOR THE ACTUAL PLATONIC LOVE OF _FUCK_ SHUT YOUR SHIT-SPEWING FACE HOLE BECAUSE _NEITHER WERE YOU.”_ He stands to move in front of you, gesticulating wildly as he speaks/yells. “This is what I’m apologizing for, what everyone else is fucking sick of _you_ doing -- conflating the regular asshole version of you with some other super asshole version of you! Trust me, every other iteration of Karkat Vantas that has ever existed in all of Paradox Space -- not even just from different timelines, but just from different times in _this_ timeline -- is the actual _fucking worst._ But you don’t see me hating myself for whatever dumbshit things they’ve done, do you? No! Because I’ve got my own special snowflake list of reasons to hate myself that have nothing to do with those fucking douchebags!”

You thought you had heard every variation of the ‘it wasn’t you, it was your alternate self’ pep talk. You understood intellectually that you could claim no responsibility for what Dave’s Bro had done to him, but internalizing it was the problem. Trying to ignore the fact that your friends didn’t _get_ it, weren’t complete fucking monsters in another life, and sure as shit weren’t terrified because the monster did things that hit way too fucking close to home in regard to the mistakes you yourself had made. 

But when Karkat laid it out, it connected better. It made more sense. Maybe it was because he had zero interest in sparing your feelings. Maybe it was because he could give you a run for gold place in the Hating Yourself Olympics. Maybe it was because he actually fucking _got_ it, even if it was on the smallest level.

You can feel him watching you, waiting to see if his words are clicking. You’re still processing. But you take a deep breath and say, “Okay,” without elaborating.

It seems to be enough for Karkat though, because after a moment, he sits back down next to you, loosely hugging his knees. “Um, don’t tell Dave that I told you about this.” He points to his shoulder. “He still gets really fucking upset about it. He lost his shit when it happened; it was the first time I saw him actually--” He stops, but you can guess the rest of the sentence. “So, yeah, don’t say anything. Because apparently egotistical assholes in ugly fucking sunglasses like to beat themselves up for shit they have exactly zero control over.” 

You exhale through your nose in a failed attempt at a laugh. “Apparently.” You hesitate before asking, “Is he okay?”

“Dave? He’s--” Karkat stops himself. “We talked.” And yelled, you mentally addend. “He’s a little freaked out, understandably. He’s mostly worried about you, though.”

“About me?” You fail to keep the surprise out of your tone. “Why?”

Karkat gives you his patented are-you-seriously-shitting-me-right-now-you-stupid-fuck look. “Maybe because he nearly went Decapitation 2: The ReBeheading on you last night? You’ve been sitting out here for like 6 hours. He’s worried that he’s chased you off.”

Guilt pinches in your stomach at the idea of Dave worrying about you, especially when the concerns aren’t completely off base. “I was just wondering if it would be better to get out of his hair for a bit. Give you guys some space.”

“Okay, first,” Karkat facetiously ticks items off on his fingers. “No. Second, fuck you, no. In case you haven’t figured it out, despite my best efforts to the contrary, Dave wants you here. He wants to do ‘Bro Stuff’ with you but is a complete knob-goblin about expressing it so settles for you staying close. So fuck no you’re not moving out because dealing with two ironic douchebags is infinitely better than dealing with one ironic douchebag trying to pretend he’s not moping like a wiggler with an unrequited flush. Once we’re done out here, we’re going inside and I am forcing the two of you to acknowledge the Mutual Adoration Anonymous Club you’re both the only members of. And neither of you will be allowed to brush it off, you will sit there and _actually fucking talk about it_ until we’re all holding hands and singing Human Kumba-fucking-ya and both of you accept that the other wants you around!”

Karkat nearly hits you at least seven times with his wild gesticulating during his speech. The dude goes to eleven pretty frequently, and has no settings below ten. You can’t help but smirk a bit. “I can see why he likes you.”

It’s like a switch is flipped. Once he registers your words, he shrinks back down, hugging his knees and watching you warily. “W-wait, what?” he splutters.

Your smirk widens into an almost smile. “You care. A lot. About everything. Everyone.” He looks almost startled, but you continue. “You care a lot about Dave and aren’t afraid to show it. He deserves someone like you.”

He’s blushing deeper than you thought trolls were capable of, and looks away in embarrassment. “Well, someone has to make sure the jackass takes care of himself, because fuck knows he won’t.” Karkat stands, eager to evacuate from any talk of his own feelings. “Now come the fuck on, I guarantee Dave’s shitting himself with anxiety.”

You stand and grimace at the way your bones crack. You were sitting out here for way too long. “Okay, let’s do this.”

“Let’s make this happen,” Karkat mutters as he opens the door. 

Despite Karkat’s insistence of anxiety induced shitting, Dave looks nonchalant as ever, sitting on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table. There’s a pair of headphones around his neck, but no music is coming out of them. “Sup.”

You know it’s a falsified tableau, but you let him have it. Karkat focuses on other things.

“DAVE, GET YOUR DISGUSTING STRUT PODS OFF THE FUCKING COFFEE PLATEAU. WE EAT THERE.” It’s a fight you hear multiple times a week. Dave doesn’t move his feet. “I’m going to go pretend to make breakfast now so you two emotionally retarded ape fetuses can talk and pretend I’m not monitoring and making sure you _actually fucking talk.”_ And with that, he stomps off into the kitchen.

Dave smirks at you. “Demanding little housewife, isn’t he?”

You hear swearing and banging in the kitchen, and you actually laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> Moral of the story: point something out and I will probably write it.
> 
> Thanks for reading my nonsense.


End file.
